


Naked

by moonfairy13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Consent, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fred Weasley Lives, Friends to Lovers, Good Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Holidays, Naked Cuddling, One Big Happy Weasley Family (Harry Potter), Post-War, Scars, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25523542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonfairy13/pseuds/moonfairy13
Summary: The Weasleys get sent on a tropical island holiday to recover from the war. On her first day, Hermione decides to go for an early morning swim in the sea but, upon entering the changing hut, finds a bit more than she expected. This is a happy Fremione story about friendship and compassion in which everyone gets to recover from their trauma in the sun and, reminders of trauma aside, the angstiest things happening are getting The Talk from Molly, being teased about snogging the twin you fancy and having to make difficult decisions about which cocktail to have next.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Comments: 66
Kudos: 344
Collections: Fremione Fanatics' Summer Fic Fest!





	1. Naked

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the Fremione Fanatics facebook group Fremione Summer Fic Fest. Chosen prompt:"A typical summer vacation/trip turns interesting."
> 
> Thanks to DreamyStranger for commenting on an earlier version of this, to PrettiestStar17 for making it all happen and to LSUSWEETIE for chat and company along the way, as well as for making the fab picture 🥰

The sand was already warm. It sneaked in between Hermione's toes as she stepped off the porch and headed towards the sea. Her decision to eschew sandals that morning had initially been due to concern that they would have made her steps more audible on the tiled floor. Yet even when she remembered that she was a witch and could cast a silencing charm, she also remembered that her mind healer so often mentioned the value of being close to nature.

That was the reason she had got out of bed so early. The sun hadn’t even risen when she crept out of the large, airy room that she was sharing with Ginny. Or that she would have been sharing with Ginny, had Ginny not moved herself into Harry and Ron’s room the previous night. Happily for Hermione, Ron had launched himself onto the sofa on a nearby veranda rather than heading to Ginny’s empty bed. 

Hermione had been filled with joy when she had opened her eyes and realised not only that she had woken with the sun, but that the rest of those who had come on the Weasleys’ private island holiday were still asleep. For now, she had the island to herself. It was the first morning of her holiday, and she was determined to make the most of the gift that they had all been given by the Ministry. A month’s exclusive use of a tiny, private island, where the days were long and the sea was warm. 

Nine of them had portkeyed in together the previous evening. Molly and Arthur, Ginny and Harry, the twins, Angelina, Ron and Hermione. More were arriving next weekend. A few were staying the whole month, some would portkey back and forth when they were needed for work, and Molly had given up keeping track. That decision was helped when Larry, the island’s guide and concierge, had presented her with a brightly-coloured cocktail and an invitation to join him on the large house’s main veranda where she could oversee the menu of food that the island’s cook would prepare. Molly, who had shipped in half of the contents of The Burrow, despite Kingsley’s promises that the house would be well stocked, had dropped her supplies in the living area and accepted the drink and Arthur’s arm with a nodding smile. A sigh of relief had passed through the rest of the family as Ron enlarged the bags and then followed George and Fred, who were in search of rum. With chores and the normal rules forgotten, it promised to be a wonderful opportunity to rest, relax and heal.

Hermione had spotted the abandoned supplies on her way through the house, and picked up a towel from the pile that Molly had brought. Like many of the Weasleys, she preferred the home comfort of Molly-laundered fabric to drying charms, and she carried just that and her wand on the short walk to the sea. The air was clear and the morning rewarded her with the peace that the witch had hoped for when she made the decision to join the family holiday. 

In contrast to the terrible noises that had haunted her dreams for the few weeks that followed the final battle, the main sound that reached her ears was that of birdsong and waves lapping onto the beach. When she concentrated, she could also detect the slight rustle of leaves as night-time creatures settled down for rest. Hermione smiled, thinking how different this was from the sound of morning at The Burrow. There, little could be heard over the complaining of the chickens, who had yet to accept that Molly was never going to get up and feed them as early as they would like.

The sound of the waves took over as Hermione neared a reed hut that stood on the beach and which Larry had shown them last night, indicating that they may wish to use it to change and shower when swimming or using the little boat that was tied by a nearby jetty. She smiled as she looked out over the clear sea while opening the door. 

But her calm was soon disturbed. Turning her head to look inside the hut as she stepped over the threshold, Hermione realised that it was already occupied. By a tall, handsome Weasley man, who was wet from swimming. And – she realised only after the door had closed behind her – naked. 

"Fred!" She gasped, not knowing where to look. "I'm so sorry. I thought I was the only one awake."

"S'alright, Hermione," Fred said. He reached for the towel on the rustic bench beside him – another of Molly’s – and held it over his chest. Leaving his bottom half still naked and fully on display. Long, shapely legs, strong thighs and … she couldn't look, but she couldn't look away either. "Don't go," he said, as Hermione began to turn for the door. "I'm just finished. I'll only be two minutes, and the hut and the ocean are all yours. It’s lovely and clear," he added.

As Fred continued chatting, explaining that he had been in the habit of taking a morning swim in The Burrow’s pond and was planning to continue to exercise that way while on holiday too, Hermione covered her eyes. It was the only way she could stop herself from looking at him. At his muscular arms. At the shape of his hips and the trail of red hair which led down from his belly button. At his face, she reminded herself, as she peeped through her fingers. Look at his face. 

Hermione took a moment to study Fred's features. 

She had been a bit worried about him since the war had ended, a couple of months prior. He hadn't been his usual self at all, and his family were just so thankful that he was alive – that they were all alive – that some of them didn't seem to have noticed. But Hermione had. She had seen him pingpong between his old bedroom at The Burrow and the flat he shared with George. Hermione had noticed that one Friday evening he had declared himself well enough to go out into muggle London, despite his mother’s protests, and then spent the rest of the weekend moping on the sofa in a funk that no number of hangover potions and Molly-prescribed chocolate biscuits seemed to lift. And she had overheard George insisting that they took this time off; that there was enough time when they got back to get ready for the grand re-opening of their shop. Hermione had seen it all. She just hadn't known how to broach it with Fred; how to ask if she could help. Maybe this was her chance. She parted her fingers a tiny bit more, to see if he had moved the towel since she placed her hand in position. He hadn't.

“Why aren’t you covering your cock?”

Fred laughed. He loved that Hermione never beat about the bush. And then he laughed at how apt that thought was, in their current situation.

"I'm not shy about my cock, Hermione. It's a nice cock," he said.

"I'm sure it is," Hermione said, wondering how she was going to get around his teasing. Maybe it would be better if she just stepped out again and went back to the house, although she really did want a swim. 

Then something clicked, as she realised what Fred had said. Or, rather, what he hadn't said. She recalled the way that he had, indeed, reached for a towel when she had arrived. But then he had pressed it against his chest. The chest on which the wall had fallen. Hermione's stomach fell at the realisation of what that might mean.

She dropped the hand that had been covering her face. If Fred's instinctive action meant what she thought it did, this wasn't a time to hide from her friend. Whether or not Fred ever felt about her the way she felt about him – and she suspected that he wouldn't, and that was fine by Hermione – she would do anything to help him.

"Why are you covering your chest, then?" It was a soft, slow whisper.

"You know why." His voice was deep, and just as slow.

"Say it."

"Scars."

"You're not shy about your cock, but you're shy about your scars…"

The teasing tone returned to his voice, but she sensed that it was the result of a deliberate effort, rather than the natural tendency with which he and George seemed to have been born. “In front of pretty witches, maybe. You’re a pretty witch, Hermione.” 

Hermione couldn't tell if he meant the second bit or not, but the first line was clearly the truth. And the key. She nodded. Thought. Processed. And then she nodded again. Taking a step forward, and keeping her eyes on Fred's, Hermione placed her own towel on the bench.

With a quick wave of her wand, Hermione cast a finite charm on her body to remove the glamour charms. Then she settled her wand on the towel. 

Her next action surprised even the veteran mischief maker. Hermione stood in front of Fred, undid the top three buttons of her sundress and let it slide to the floor. After that, she untied the top of her bikini and dropped that as well before bending down and removing the bottom half of her outfit.

Slowly, Hermione bent, picked her clothes up and threw them onto the bench. The bikini knickers slid through the slats and onto the floor, but she ignored them. The young witch then turned in a circle, moving her hair here and about so that Fred could see every scar and line on her own body. Only when she had made the full turn, three hundred and sixty degrees, her eyes returning to where they could look back into his, did she speak again.

“Tell me I’m less attractive because I have scars, Fred. Tell me I’m not beautiful.”

“I can’t. Gods, Hermione. Fuck.”

Fred was bright, and had already grasped her point. She knew he would. He, like his parents and brothers and sister, was nothing if not kind. Whether or not he fancied her – and that wasn't the point of this – he wouldn't be able to tell her she was less attractive for her own scars. But Hermione wanted to drill it home; she needed to make sure this lesson stuck. So she took two small steps forward, smiling to see him struggle to not drop his gaze to her breasts.

"You can look, if you like," she said. "I wouldn't have said that even a few weeks ago, but I've done a lot of thinking since then." Hermione touched the scar on her neck, twisted her arm to show Fred the 'mudblood' scar and then moved to point out several others on her body. "They could be painful evidence of torture, if I let them," she said, all thought of swimming now forgotten. "I prefer to see them as evidence of my bravery; my survival. As reminders to enjoy every day and make the best of everything I have."

Fred swallowed, and nodded. Point well made. Point exceptionally well made.

Another step forward and Hermione touched his shoulder with her hand. "You're a bloody miracle, Fred. Two healers pronounced you dead. George was in bits." She shook her head, remembering. "And then you took this shuddering breath and it was as if the world started up again."

The only reason Fred had the scars on his chest, Hermione knew, was because he had lain on the floor of the Great Hall for so long before anyone set to healing his broken ribs and the deep wounds in his chest. Before anyone realised that he was alive to need them mending. She also knew that it was the long, diagonal scar that bothered him. Hermione didn't need arithmancy for that; the angle of his arm gave it away. He sought to cover the evidence of where the largest slab of wall had fallen. But that same mark, as she had pointed out to him, was also the evidence that he had survived. Hermione's fingers trailed to Fred's hand; the one holding the towel. She gently pressed it, inviting him to move it away, to stop covering himself.

Fred obeyed, and the towel fell to his feet, although his arm remained against his chest; a last little bit of protection. Six feet of naked Weasley man stood before her. 

And Hermione had to remind herself that she was here trying to help him heal, as his friend. Not to perve over him, tempting as that was.

"If you were my wizard," Hermione said, in the same kind of matter-of-fact voice that Fred remembered her using when she quoted Hogwarts: A History to Ron and Harry, "I'd kiss it every day." She swallowed, and her tone became softer. "In celebration of the fact that you were still walking the earth. To remind you that it makes you even more beautiful, because it proves how you fought for what you believe in. For your family and friends, and for freedom. So that muggle born witches and wizards like me could be safe."

Her last line hit him hard. Something shifted in Fred, and he lowered his arm, just a few inches, wrapping his hand around his waist instead. He didn't ask her to show him, in words, but the combination of his eye movements and his hopeful face conveyed his thought to Hermione.

She nodded, giving him a small smile. "Of course." A step forward, closing the gap between their bodies. Hermione wet her lips, just a bit, with her tongue. Then, gently, she pressed a kiss just to the left of his heart, where a smaller scar bisected the longer one. "X marks the spot," she said, her breath making his chest tingle. She tasted the salt of the sea on him; he hadn’t showered yet. Then, when he looked confused, she smiled. "Maybe that's a muggle saying. But look," she continued, raising her hand and gently stroking the cross with the pad of her thumb as he watched. "It's like your body is saying, 'kiss me here, witches, kiss me here…'"

“Witches?” His eyebrows were raised.

“Well,” she flustered, and then took a half step back, “unless you want wizards to kiss you there … I’m not judging, Fred. Oliver’s a good-looking bloke,” she teased. “And I believe from your mum’s abandoned timetable that he’ll be here at the weekend…”

"Nah," he grinned. "I couldn't take the angst when he lost a game. Percy's more patient with that. But witches plural?"

Hermione shrugged. "I just meant … well, you always seemed to have lots of witches after you at school."

"I s'pose I did, a bit," he agreed. And then he paused, uncharacteristically, because Fred Weasley always had something to say and he generally didn't feel the need to filter it through his head before it exited his lips. But this time, because it mattered, he considered his words first. "I think I might be ready to just have one witch now, though," he said. "One who's okay with my scars and sees me for who I am. One who doesn't make me feel like I'm not enough. That I'm damaged goods."

"Oh." Finally, Hermione understood. She closed the gap between them again. Her hand moved to his side; the side he wasn't holding, and she cupped his soft, warm, naked skin while she asked her next question. "Did someone treat you unkindly, Fred? Is that why you hid it when I came in?"

Fred pulled a face designed to display nonchalance. Hermione saw right through it. "Shouldn't have gone into muggle London," he said. "Should have listened to Mum and stayed home. Should have known that it was a bad idea to try to shag a muggle. I just wanted to be normal for a night. After everything." He looked up at the ceiling, face contorting slightly at the memory, and then back down at Hermione.

Who waited, giving him the space he needed to form the long-overdue words.

"It wasn't unkind, really. No. It was just … the flinching," he confessed. And then he couldn't say any more. He could only remember the way that the woman had been surprised when she saw him; not looking the way she had expected a fit twenty-year-old bloke's chest to look.

Fred had been having such a good time in the bar and the club; he had almost forgotten about what happened, so it never occurred to him to warn her before she pulled off his shirt. When it happened he had felt sick; lost; alone. He had made his excuses, thrown his shirt back on, found a secluded alley and then apparated straight to The Burrow. He had been starting to stay at the flat more by then, but needed his childhood bed that night, and one of his Mum's breakfasts the next morning. Not even able to conjure a happy enough thought to send a patronus to George so his twin wouldn't worry when he still wasn't back by morning, he dispatched an owl to the shop. Burrowing into the snitch-covered duvet, Fred shed a few hot tears into his pillow. For those they had lost; for the relief – and guilt – that his own family were still together and whole; for the loss of his own ability to strip without prior explanation; he didn’t even know. Since then, Fred had taken to sleeping in his childhood bed on a regular basis, claiming to George that it was about the early swimming; his fitness regime. And his healers had said that swimming would help his body to heal. But that was only half the truth.

Seeing him torn by the memory, Hermione tried to take Fred into her arms, but their height difference was too much to allow her to hold him in the way she wanted to. So she pulled him by the hand to the bench and sat them down; mutual nakedness forgotten; trumped by deep friendship and care for each other, despite their differences. More or less level with his face now, Hermione was able to slip her arms around Fred and pull him to her; cradling his head against her shoulder and pressing her cheek into his hair.

“Hang on,” he said, reaching backwards with his wand and lifting himself slightly while he transfigured the bench into a couch. A grin grew slowly on his face. “I’m naked here,” he reported, as if she couldn’t see that; as if she weren’t also naked herself. “Can’t be trapping a bollock between the slats, can I? How would we explain that to Mum? Oh, hello Molly,” he imitated Hermione’s higher voice. “I was cuddling your son, naked, in the changing hut just now, and one of his balls is stuck. I’ve just nipped in to ask the cook if I can borrow the butter…” 

His eyes were filled with mirth and, although he got a laugh from Hermione too, which made his chest feel warm, she still insisted on cradling him again. This was too deep to be mended with quick jokes, she knew. They sank back into the padded seat, somehow both more comfortable in their own skin now that they were next to each other. Naked and sharing and unguarded. Both more conscious of baring their naked souls to each other than their naked bodies. But still able to laugh together amidst the pain.

"You shouldn't let anybody make you feel bad like that," she told him.

"Funny … I always wanted to tell you that," he said, softly. Hermione tilted her head back, a question in her eyes, and he answered with one word. "Ron."

"Ah." She chose her next words carefully. "He's a good man. Just not the right man for me. And I'm not the right witch for him."

"Lucky for someone else, then," Fred said, and Hermione wished hard that she knew what he meant by that. She didn't ask, and put her head back on his shoulder instead. A few moments passed before he spoke again.

"I think you might have mended me," he said.

"Oh, I doubt that," Hermione replied. "I think it's going to take us all longer to heal. But perhaps it's a beginning…"

Fred laughed, strangely delighted at her assessment. With Hermione, he knew he would never have to wonder whether she was being honest. She simply didn't know how not to be. He reached for one of her hands, taking it in his and then linking his fingers through hers before turning it over and resting it on his thigh. Hermione marvelled at how soft the hair on his legs felt.

"Hermione?" he spoke softly, causing her to look up at him. "Have you ever been skinny dipping?" His grin was back, her heart soared and her eyes flashed as she looked back up and shook her head.

"No."

It felt deliciously naughty when Fred stood up and led her by her hand out of the hut and along the wooden jetty. "Together?" he asked, and she nodded, keeping tight hold of his fingers as they jumped off, the splash they made causing a flock of brightly coloured birds to rise from some nearby trees. It was a cleansing of sorts; an initiation into a new way of being. They both instinctively swam out and away from the shore.

When Hermione surfaced, she had lost hold of Fred and couldn't see him anymore. And then he broke the water behind her, wrapping both of his long arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. Hermione felt a flush of heat as she felt him pressing into the softness of her bottom. It felt more comforting than sexual, at least in this moment, but Hermione didn't get a chance to analyse that, or what it might mean. She became aware of his face next to hers; his mouth close to her ear. Fred's legs weren't moving and Hermione realised he must still be able to touch the bottom, although she couldn't feel it herself. But she didn't need to; Fred was holding her tight; keeping her afloat, even as they both looked out across a wide sea which seemed to go on forever. 

"Is there a wizard in your life right now?" he asked her right ear, as they both looked ahead at the horizon.

"No." The shake of her head was gentle, but firm.

"Oh," he said. "Well, the thing is, that I've realised something."

Hermione's heart began to beat faster, wondering if there was any chance he felt the same way about her as she did about him. "Oh yes?"

"You're right. I do still have some healing to do. And I think it would help if I could find a witch who would kiss my scars every day. Like you suggested."

"Mmm hmmm?" She tried to turn her head, but didn't get very far.

"Of course," he continued, using the fingers of one hand to lift Hermione's hair away from the side of her neck that carried the scar, and pressing his lips to it. "It's only fair that I kiss hers in return…"

"I want to turn around," Hermione said. This was a conversation requiring eye contact. That was, after all, how she had first learned to tell the twins apart. And how she could – at least usually – tell when they were serious, and when they were teasing.

"I love it when you get bossy," Fred replied, and released her as requested.

Hermione wasted no time when she turned and saw Fred’s gaze. She fastened her legs around his waist and wound her arms around his neck. Then, without pausing to think, she kissed the silly grin that had spread itself across his face. Fred let slip a groan and then obediently parted his lips, kissing her back as he held her in his arms. It felt right. More right than either of them had felt while kissing someone before. Needing their arms to keep themselves together and afloat, they explored with just their lips and tongues. In between kisses, they would look into each other’s eyes, gazing in a kind of wonder that culminated in smiles and then more kissing.

"Does this mean you're applying to be my wizard?" Hermione asked, when they finally came up to properly catch their breath. She was holding him with just one arm now. So she could stroke his face with her fingers.

"I think it does," Fred replied, retrieving a bit of seaweed which had got caught in her hair and flicking it away. "Will you have me?"

"It depends." Hermione pretended to consider. "Do you promise not to tell everyone the real story of how we got together?" She wasn't sure how she would cope with that, especially once Fred had embellished it a bit, which she was confident was inevitable. And their encounter this morning had been a precious moment in time; an axis on which something important had shifted for both of them. It wasn’t something that should be shared with everyone. 

Fred looked shocked. "Even Georgie?"

"Oh." She hadn't thought of that. Fred and George didn't have secrets. "Apart from Georgie."

"I can do that," he said, the look of relief on his face adding another layer to Hermione’s understanding of his close relationship with his twin. "How are we going to get together then?"

Hermione looked confused.

"Well," he continued, "if we walk back hand-in-hand, my Mum's going to want a story. And Ginny, obviously. Harry, when he gives me the big brother talk." His face changed and his eyes widened as he considered Harry's reaction if he heard what had happened that morning. "Yeah, you're right. We need a different way to get together," he smiled. "Something plausible, and soon, so we can enjoy our holiday together. Preferably while wearing clothes. Otherwise no amount of butter'll get my balls out of Harry's grip." 

His eyes widened to emphasise his point, but they were still full of amusement. Hermione resisted the temptation to cup that part of his anatomy in her hand and reassure him, knowing that would lead to an outcome that she wasn't yet ready for, and instead gave Fred another quick kiss on his mouth. "I still want to swim," she said, moving her legs from around his waist and starting to tread water. "How about you get dressed, fetch my bikini and I'll see if I can come up with a plan while I swim to the end of the island and back?"

"Done." Fred released her with one more long kiss to her neck, and Hermione reciprocated with another to his chest. "Good job we have you as the brains of this partnership," he winked and began to swim back to the jetty. Hermione deliberately waited, watching, so that she could admire his nakedness; the muscled arms and shoulders lifting himself out of the water; the sculpted arse and those long, sturdy legs, walking away from her. The gorgeous, cheeky face, giving her a wink over his shoulder, a playful wiggle of his bum and then a slow turn of his body when he realised that she was watching and decided to give her a show of what she had signed up for.

"One last look at the goods," he called, with another wink. “No refunds or returns though,” he added. “And certainly not just a holiday romance. You have to keep me now.” His arms were outstretched; not needed to cover his chest anymore. Heart soaring and cheeks aching from the smiles he brought out of her, Hermione blew him a kiss, turned and began to swim away.

Some twenty minutes later, Hermione neared the jetty again. The sun was coming through the trees now, and the light made Fred's hair look like flames as he sat cross-legged on the wooden boards, having put on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. She slowed and then stopped to don her bikini, which Fred was dangling from a long stick over the water in readiness, as if it were the flag indicating the whereabouts of the finishing line. Hermione could see that he had her wand, dress and towel folded, ready and waiting for when she was done. If she hadn't been watching him for weeks, if she hadn't already decided to keep him, that thoughtfulness in itself would likely have swayed her.

"Okay," she said when she sat beside him again, also cross legged, now dressed, and feeling loads better for her swim. "Here's what's going to happen. We'll go back to the house separately, in case anyone else is up, and we'll have breakfast with everyone else. After breakfast I'll say I'm going to read my new book, and at some point you can decide to come and chat to me. You declare your interest, we'll agree to go on a walk together or something, we'll kiss if it feels right and you can brag to everybody forever after that you were the one wizard who managed to get my attention away from a book. Do you like it?"

"I love it," he declared. "We'll call it Operation Kiss the Bookworm."

Hermione laughed. "Call it what you like. Just make sure it becomes the official story. And tell George that, if he ever thinks of telling anybody otherwise, to bear in mind that your shared DNA means I've got intimate knowledge of his anatomy too. So I'll know precisely where to aim my hex."

Fred chuckled and remarked upon her clever thinking before he leaned in for another kiss, which lasted for several minutes. He had one more thing to say before he left. "No pressure, but I’ll admit I’m hoping I might get to see you naked again one day…"

A smile crossed Hermione's face. "I was thinking the same thing," she said, her hand reaching to stroke his chest, and then his thigh. " Let’s see how the next few days goes," she said, not wanting to make any promises that she wasn’t sure if she was ready for. "And let’s see whether your dad can relax your mum enough for everyone to sleep where they like..."

"Done." Fred rose, feet as bare as Hermione's, and turned to walk across the now baking sand. "Better make sure you bring a bookmark for whatever you're going to read this morning," he said, without turning around. "Because when I distract you from your reading with my killer Weasley twin charm, you're going to forget what the book's even called, love. In fact, I'd be surprised if you remember your name, once I'm done with kissing you. You'll be desperate to get me naked. Again."

Hermione tipped her face towards the sun and felt a joy like she had never known. Now THAT was the Fred Weasley that she knew. And loved. And this was going to be the best holiday ever.


	2. Operation Kiss the Bookworm

The first stage of Operation Kiss the Bookworm didn’t really go how Hermione had imagined. After breakfast, during which she deliberately chatted to Ginny and Harry and avoided meeting Fred’s eyes, the Weasleys and Harry shared their plans for the day. Ron and Harry were keen to take the boat out, and Ginny, Angelina and George had been excited to find that there were broomsticks for the guests’ use.

Hermione had spotted an area that she very much liked the look of. A raised deck, on the opposite side of the island from where she and Fred had swum, and which Larry had referred to as ‘the beach terrace’. It was a large, rectangular space, which had clearly been subject to a charm, for it was bigger when you were on it than it looked to be from the outside. There were a number of day beds, strewn with coloured pillows, and then sunbeds, tables and parasols. Best of all, at least from Hermione’s perspective, the height of the wooden flooring meant that occupants had an excellent view of the beach and the sea, and could easily watch anyone swimming or playing on the sand when they looked up from their book.

“I’m going to claim one of those big day beds on the beach terrace and read my novel,” Hermione announced, waving a fat new book around as she spoke. “And,” she smiled at Ron and Harry, “I don’t care who makes fun of me for being a bookworm!”

Nobody made fun of her, in part because Arthur declared this to be a wonderful idea. He proposed a short after breakfast walk for anyone who was interested, and Fred was one of those who agreed. Hermione thus managed a good hour of undisturbed reading before the ramblers returned, just minutes after the boys brought the boat around and tied it to another tiny jetty. Larry’s production of a morning tea comprising fruit and cake had them all swarming back to the terrace like happy bees. Hermione’s heart began to speed up a little as she sensed Fred approaching her, but she deliberately carried on reading.

“Well hello little bookworm, may I join you?” Fred asked, sitting on the edge of the large bed. He settled next to her, brought his legs onto the bed and then unexpectedly leaned over and scooped Hermione – who was still reading – up into his arms. He settled her in his lap as he laid back against the pillows.

“Frederick Weasley! Put Hermione down!” His mother’s voice wasn’t as loud as usual; she was beginning to relax herself, and was on a nearby bed reading a muggle knitting magazine which Hermione had bought her as a holiday present.

“Yeah,” his twin agreed. “You don’t know where she’s been…” George winked at Hermione and it was very clear to the witch that, at some point since Fred’s return from his swim, George had quietly been informed of exactly where Hermione had been. And with whom. And in what state of undress. She turned her face to Fred, in part to hide her blush.

“Oooh, you’re catching the sun already, Hermione,” he whispered, his long fingers reaching to stroke her cheek. “We should put a sun protection charm on you.”

Hermione gave him a long, searching look; not sure how she was supposed to play her part in this. Especially when she was aching to press her lips against his again. She had already begun to forget how it felt, and wanted to be reminded.

“Relax,” he whispered in her ear. He slid out from under her and returned her to her previous position on her own side of the bed before sitting up. Then he spoke a little more loudly. “Can I get anyone a drink?” 

Full of energy, in a way that made his mother smile to see it, Fred fetched and passed drinks and cake to his parents and sister before bringing two glasses and a plate back to Hermione’s day bed.

“May I join you, please?” he asked again, and this time he waited for an answer. 

Hermione nodded. She deliberately avoided looking over towards the area where Ron, Ginny and Harry had set up their own camp.

“Yes, Fred, you may,” she said, glad that he was behaving a bit more normally. She didn’t want Molly to get the wrong end of the stick. Or perhaps, she thought, it was more accurate to say that she didn’t want Molly to get the right end of the stick, because that would mean that Fred’s mum would then want to know how they had got together. After issuing a small bow in Hermione’s direction and popping their juices and the cake plate on a small table, Fred settled onto the day bed, this time on his own side, and propped himself up on one arm. He was still wearing the same tee shirt and shorts that he had put on after their swim, and Hermione tried not to think about what she now knew was underneath. She couldn’t help but let her eyes linger on his waist though, for which she received a wink, when her eyes finally trailed their way back up his body and met his again.

Hermione blushed and lifted her book again. Fred allowed her to read for a few minutes, but she couldn’t even get through one page. She read the same three paragraphs several times, without taking in more than two or three words. Eventually, she realised that the attempt was futile. Operation Kiss the Bookworm was clearly working.

“Hi,” she said, putting her bookmark in place. She settled her book beside her, sat up a bit higher, sipped her juice, chose a piece of cake to nibble and then turned back to Fred. Gods, his eyes were gorgeous. A deep, friendly brown colour, framed with long lashes. His pupils, she was delighted to note, were wide and gazing right into her own eyes.

“Hi, Hermione.” His voice was soft.

“Can I help you, Fred?” she asked, hoping that this would give him a path to go wherever it was he wanted to go with this. She felt as if she had somehow forgotten to read the script of the play she was appearing in.

“Well,” he said. “That depends.”

Her mouth twitched slightly, in a manner that reminded Fred of Professor McGonagall, when she was telling him and George off for doing something that was technically against the rules but which the elderly witch secretly thought was funny or clever. But Fred – rightly – judged that now might not be the right time to share that thought. Hermione didn’t answer verbally, simply raising her eyebrows.

“Oh fuck it,” he said, seeing the concern in her eyes. Before he could hear his mother’s inevitable protest at his language, Fred had cast a silencing spell over the bed. Hermione caught sight of George’s wand move too; the younger twin, she suspected, had added another layer of protection and was playing wingman from the outside.

“I don’t know what to say,” she told him. “I feel like I’m on a stage but I don’t know what my lines are! I don’t find this sort of thing very easy...”

“That’s alright,” Fred said. “Sorry, love, I know you don’t like attention as much as I do. I didn’t realise they’d all be here. Nosey gits,” he smirked.

“You can hardly blame everyone for wanting to be on the beach,” she replied, looking around them. She still couldn’t quite believe they were here, and wanted to take in the beautiful view.

“I suppose not,” he smiled, reaching for her hand.

Hermione allowed him to take it, and moved her eyes back to his, not really wanting to know what was being said or done outside their bubble. She suspected that all talk was now of the two of them, as their family wondered why Fred had needed secrecy. Hermione wondered if this was what being an actor felt like; playing a part, and having everyone watch. As if Fred could read her thoughts, he smiled.

“It’s like a silent movie now. You don’t have to worry about the lines anymore. And how about I be the director, and I’ll tell you what to do. Or, even better,” he smiled, “I’ll show you…” 

His hand reached for her hair, and she allowed him to rearrange a couple of curls that had fallen over her face. Hermione swallowed. She could see George out of the corner of her eye. He was trying to persuade Angelina to come in the sea with him, standing over his witch and playfully tugging at her hands. It looked very much – to Hermione anyway – as if it was a prearranged plan to distract attention from the couple on the bed.

“I’ve promised we’ll name our first born after him,” Fred remarked.

“Fred!” Hermione exclaimed, partly in shock and partly in delight at how easily Fred seemed to be able to imagine a future in which they were together and making babies. She found she liked that thought; very much. “What if I want to name her after Harry?” she asked, feeling more relaxed now, and very happy to play any game that kept her feeling this good.

“Georgia Harriet Granger-Weasley,” he said, pursing his lips in consideration after he tried it out. “Well, it’s a bit of a mouthful, but I’m sure she’ll cope!”

“I’m having a career first,” she informed him.

“Naturally,” he replied. And then he shrugged. “I’ll look after the babies if you want. They can be with me in the shop, and you can be the Minister for Magic.”

“I can’t believe you’re naming our children and planning who’s going to look after them before we’ve even … well, you know!” 

She watched as Fred moved a bit closer.

“Swum together naked? No,” he grinned. “We already did that. Kissed til we were breathless? Gone for a night-time broom ride? Cuddled on the beach under the moonlight?” He moved even closer and spoke more quietly. “Come in each other’s mouths and then fucked til we fell asleep? Fallen in love?” His eyes flickered across her face, and Hermione felt herself getting turned on by his words.

“What am I going to do with you?” she asked softly.

“Kiss me,” he said. “You’re going to kiss me. In about a minute from now. Can you do that, love? I think enough chatting up time has passed for it to be believable that I’ve charmed you. To make my move and feel confident that you’ll respond in a good way. We’d better keep it PG, for Mum,” he said, making Hermione smile to hear him using one of the muggle terms that she had taught him.

“Alright,” she agreed, realising that he wasn’t going to move anywhere until she was happy with the plan.

Fred shifted closer. “So,” he said, I’m going to put my hand on you here…” His hand moved to her back, and he shifted his entire body closer to Hermione. “And then I’m going to lean in, slowly, and…”

His kiss was gentle; another soft press of his lips against hers. They both sighed. Fred wandlessly altered the silencing spell so they could hear a few seconds worth of the surprised and happy exclamations that emanated from certain members of their family upon seeing the pair of them kissing. Hermione laughed when she heard Ron and Harry’s questions as to what had made Molly and Ginny so excited. Then he brought the charm back again, and it was just the two of them, back in their bubble. Their kissing continued for a couple of minutes. They were both mindful of their audience, so they kept it soft and sedate, with their hands in full view and well above the waist. Then Fred moved his head back, keeping his hand on Hermione’s face.

“You’re gorgeous,” he said.

“So are you,” she replied, leaning forward to carefully place her lips on the spot on his tee shirt which covered his scar. Behind her, Molly Weasley’s heart melted. She had cared for Fred in the days after the battle, and she knew exactly what that spot signified. Touched beyond belief to realise that Hermione cared so much for her middle son that she wanted to honour his scars, Molly began to consider what kind of hat she might buy for their wedding. 

“Relax. Everything’s going to be okay.” Fred’s thumb gently stroked her face, and Hermione made a small mumbling noise. “It will,” he insisted. “You’re one of us now.” He looked across at George, on the next day bed, who gave her a friendly wink when she looked over as well. Angelina gave Hermione a reassuring smile and nod. Fred spoke once more. “We’ll do the talking, don’t worry.”

Hermione looked into Fred’s eyes. “Okay then. What now?” she asked, trying hard not to look at anything or anyone else outside of their cocoon. She had got through the first act, she realised with relief, and they could now behave naturally, but there was no script for the segue to that part either.

“Oh,” he said. “This is the good bit. Here,” he rearranged them, so that Hermione rested in the crook of his arm and they both nestled comfortably in the pillows, and handed her the book that she had been reading. Fred then put the arm that he wasn’t holding Hermione with behind his head. “You read,” he instructed, “and I’ll close my eyes for a bit and make it look like I’ve dozed off and we’ll pretend that nothing happened. It’ll drive them fucking bananas,” he added, lifting the silencing charm and giving his twin a quick nod before his head fully reclined.

Fred was right. It did drive them bananas, and it was only four and a half minutes before Ginny broke.

“Excuse me, Hermione,” she said, coming up to sit on the edge of the day bed.

“Hello,” Hermione replied, moving her book down and nestling closer to Fred so that Ginny could get comfortable. She had spent the previous few minutes not reading at all, but thinking things through and – to her surprise – actually growing in confidence. Fred’s stroking helped to reassure her that this could actually be rather fun, and really not worth worrying about.

“How can we help you, Gin-Gin?” Fred’s eyes remained closed as he spoke.

“It’s Hermione’s help I’m after,” Ginny told her brother, poking her tongue out at him to see if he was secretly watching her. When he didn’t react, she lifted her wand, but no sooner had she opened her mouth again to cast a tickling hex than it had flown out of her hand and into George’s.

“Good spell, that expelliarmus,” George said to Harry, who laughed.

“Brilliant spell! Your favourite, right Harry?” Arthur’s voice was as cheerful as ever, and the older wizard turned and sat up on the day bed that he and Molly had commandeered, hoping for a conversation with Harry. There was only so much sunbathing one wizard could do before a bit of activity was in order, after all. But his wife’s arm reached out, halting his conversation. She wanted to hear Ginny and Hermione.

Hermione looked up at her friend innocently. Somehow, having Fred beside her was giving her the confidence to simply lay in his arms, pretending that it was completely normal and expected that she was being held and gently stroked by one of Ginny’s brothers. 

“What’s going on?” Ginny asked.

“Oh,” said Hermione, putting her bookmark in the book. “Well, there’s a woman called Claire and she’s gone back in time and she met this Scottish man called Jamie; he’s redheaded, actually, which is an interesting coincidence, and…”

“You know what I mean, you naughty moo,” Ginny interrupted. “What’s going on with you and my brother?”

“Which brother?” Hermione asked, now enjoying herself. “You do have six of them, you know!”

At that, Harry let out a snort, which he quickly turned into a cough before catching George’s eye. George smiled at Hermione and then looked across at Fred. “I love her,” he said to his twin. “Can we keep her?”

“Too bloody right we can,” Fred replied. “I’m not letting her go now.” His words were confirmed as he embraced Hermione from behind with both arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. He gazed at his sister, brown eyes wide.

“I didn’t realise I needed your permission, Gin, but I have applied to be Hermione’s wizard and she has kindly agreed to give me a trial. I am anticipating being given tasks which I will perform over the next month in the hope that she will keep me once we return to the fair county of Devonshire.”

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly. This was news to her. But she could work with it. She settled her face into a sweet smile, which she turned on her friend.

Ginny raised her eyebrows, and Hermione nodded in agreement with Fred’s statement. Ginny scrutinised Hermione for another moment or two, saw the content look on her friend’s face when Fred began stroking her hip and then the younger witch’s eyes suddenly lit up.

“This is really a thing!” she exclaimed in delight. “You two really like each other … it’s not a joke!”

“Of course it’s not a joke,” said Fred. “When would I ever make something into a joke? I can’t believe you’d even say that!”

While he and George joined in loud exclamations at the unfairness of this allegation, quickly enlisting Ron and Harry into the conversation as well, Hermione gave Ginny a soft smile. “It’s really a thing,” she whispered, grateful to be able to tell and reassure her friend without everyone hearing. She would love to have a chat with Ginny about all of this, but not with everyone else there too.

Ginny squealed in delight, took Hermione’s book, dropped it onto the deck and then launched herself on the bed. She put her arms around Hermione, so that Hermione was now sandwiched between the two Weasleys.

“I’m going to help,” she said, squeezing her friend in delight. I mean, you two are perfect together, but I’m still going to help.”

“How?” Hermione was confused. She thought she had managed things rather well by herself so far.

“By setting his tasks,” Ginny said, and her face almost split with happiness as she gave Hermione one more squeeze. Then she laid back against the pillow and set herself to thinking.

Hermione looked at Fred and then back at Ginny. “There’s no need,” she told her friend. “Thank you, but we’ve already got a list of goals. Fred made it, just a few minutes ago, and it sounds great.”

Fred’s eyes boggled when he recalled his own words and he moved carefully to ensure that the movement in his shorts was hidden from view. This was going to be the best holiday ever.


	3. The List

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any other Charlie/Lauren fans have questions about how they got together in this particular universe, do see the comments as I have added their backstory in below 🙂😉🥰

It was, indeed, a fabulous holiday. 

Although Fred and Hermione would, years later, never be able to agree on whether it was their best holiday ever. Each time the topic arose, they would hotly debate it for a few minutes before Fred would slide his arms around Hermione and declare that it didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were still enjoying fabulous holidays together.

And neither Fred nor Hermione were certain whether it would be a fabulous holiday when, after a long secret discussion under a silencing charm late in the afternoon of the day they had got together, Molly and Arthur announced that they wished to talk to everyone. Wizards with Arthur, witches with Molly. No exceptions.

Fred groaned softly, his face in Hermione’s hair.

“What?” she had whispered.

“It’s The Talk again,” he said. “We’re going to have The Talk. And then she’s going to put spells up so I won’t be able to see you after nine in the evening. It’s so unfair,” he moaned, making Hermione laugh to hear him sounding like a petulant teenager. 

“Don’t worry,” Hermione whispered back. “We’ll find a way around it. If we combine our talents, there’s no way we won’t be able to work something out.” She obediently went to sit near Molly, unwilling to overtly rebel until she had learned more, but was pleasantly surprised at the nature of the conversation Molly wanted to have with herself, Ginny and Angelina. 

The elder witch began by explaining that she accepted that they were all of age and in relationships now, and that they were going to want to explore that. Molly summoned drinks, ensured that they could all cast effective contraceptive charms and then, as the first glass of wine took hold, taught them a progression of womanly charms that had not been on the Hogwarts curriculum but which she thought they might find helpful. Ginny’s face had been a picture.

As Hermione would detail to Fred later that evening, the charms included – but were not limited to – privacy wards, a handy lubrication charm, a couple of menstrual cycle-related spells and the one which made Hermione’s eyes boggle; a bollock-crunching hex which could be performed wandlessly and was for use if a witch found herself facing unwanted advances from a wizard who didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘no’.

“And if any one of my sons, or adopted sons,” she looked at Ginny, “EVER tells you to either stop them now or they won’t be able to stop themselves later, you use that hex and then come and tell me.” Molly’s face was serious. “Because I will be having words. You can ALWAYS say no, even if you’ve already said yes, and don’t you have them telling you otherwise. It’s not okay, even if they think they're being sexy. Now,” she continued, having made her point but not wanting the conversation to get too serious, “shall we summon another bottle of this nice pink fizzy stuff, do you think, or one of those rum cocktails Larry made last night?”

“Are you serious?” Fred was trying to keep his voice down when they compared notes on their respective talks after their dinner. Hermione had insisted on sitting next to Ron during their meal, so he didn’t feel left out, although she was encouraged to hear that he had invited Lavender to join them in a few days’ time, and Lavender had accepted. But then Ron and Harry had found a chess set, and Fred and Hermione had taken themselves for a short walk on the beach. “We’re allowed to sleep where we like?” he asked, wanting to be sure he had heard her correctly.

Hermione shrugged. “According to your mum. I think she knows we’re going to do what we like anyway, and she just wanted to make sure that we knew all the right spells.”

“And do we?” He cast a sly, sideways glance at Hermione, who smiled, not meeting his eye. 

“I know several new ones that Professor Flitwick didn’t see fit to cover in class,” she confirmed, still smiling. “But,” she added, when Fred stopped and tried to pull her down onto the sand, “not one for removing sand from bits of me that shouldn’t get sandy.” With that, she resisted and instead tugged him towards her bedroom. When they got to the door, and he stopped, unsure, Hermione looked up at him and spoke clearly. “I’m not ready for sex yet, Fred, but I’d love to kiss and cuddle, if you’d like that?”

Fred snorted, surprising Hermione, who wasn’t quite sure whether he was passing comment on her unreadiness or on his desire to kiss and cuddle. Seeing the look on her face, he apologised, explaining that yes, he would very much like that. And to stay the night, if he was invited. He assured Hermione that he was very happy to wait until she was ready, Apparently Arthur’s talk had been less practical. It was a lengthy lecture on respect, consent, fidelity and how, while Arthur might be too old to take on anyone who upset their witch, Bill and Charlie were in their prime and he wouldn’t hesitate to call on them if needed. 

“So I’m going to be very lovely, very respectful, and follow your lead,” he whispered, once they were laying on her newly enlarged bed, with all the charms up. 

“Or I get your sexy older brothers gallantly coming to my rescue?” she asked, teasingly.

“You’d like that, would you?” Hermione couldn’t read the tone in Fred’s voice. Was he joking, or actually a bit less certain of his confidence than he appeared? Given what had happened just that morning, she wasn’t going to take any chances.

“No, I would not,” she said, turning a bit so that they were facing each other. “I’m not interested in any other wizard, thank you very much,” she said firmly. “I’ve liked you for a little while, you know?”

Fred hadn’t known. But he got the story out of her in between kisses that first evening. And then Hermione got him out of his tee shirt so that she could kiss his scar. She took her own off after that, and then her bra, so that he could touch and kiss her breasts, which caused her to tip her head back and tell him that this was honestly the most amazing feeling she had ever experienced.

“Wait til I’m inside you one day then,” he said. “Because I’ll wait as long as you need, love, but when I get to make love to you, I’m going to make you feel so good…”

Hermione already felt really good, and she told Fred that, asking if there wasn’t something they could do without going all the way. And he smiled, and continued to whisper in her ear as they removed their underwear and used their hands and fingers to reach across the bed and explore each other’s bodies, showing and telling each other what felt good. It was, as Fred would (with Hermione’s agreement) tell George the next day, sweet and sexy and “so fucking adorable and hot at the same time” and George laughed softly at his twin and took the piss about Fred falling in love so quickly before adding, quietly, that he had thought Fred had secretly liked the little witch for years.

Fred raised his eyebrows, giving his twin a small upward nod and then glancing across at their younger brother. In those two gestures, a whole conversation was had. George simply nodded and said, “well, it’s all good now.”

For the first week of the holiday, it was just the nine of them, and they had the entire island and the massive house to themselves. Fred and Hermione got up early and swam together, often naked, first thing every morning, and by day three Hermione had agreed to join Fred for his early morning swims in the pond at The Burrow when they returned home. As long as he researched heating charms for when the weather got cooler. The long days would be filled with walks, reading, more swimming, boating and beach games. Hermione found an unexpected pleasure in watching Molly and the resort’s cook swapping spells and cooking charms, and an even greater pleasure – though this one was less surprising – in watching Fred play beach volleyball with his sister and brothers. Without his shirt on, which made her happiest of all. She kept her promise and not only did she kiss his scar each day, but multiple times each day.

“You’ve done wonders for that boy,” Molly said one day, as she passed Hermione’s sunbed. Everyone else was throwing a ball around on the beach while Hermione was engrossed in fictional events occurring in eighteenth century Scotland. Fred was leaping around, now oblivious to the scars on his body. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve done, dear. He won’t want me to say it, I know, but thank you.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say, so she simply reached for Molly’s hand and squeezed it. 

“Now,” said Molly, reaching for her knitting magazine and then coming to sit on Hermione’s bed. “Tell me which of these sweater patterns you like best. I’m getting ready to start my Christmas knitting, and I want to make sure I’ll make you something you’ll enjoy wearing…”

Touched, the younger witch flicked through the magazine and then stopped. There was a photograph of a couple who were standing in front of a Christmas tree, their arms around each other, in matching cream-coloured Aran jumpers. And she loved it.

“Perfect,” Molly said, before Hermione could say anything. She had seen the look in Hermione’s eyes. “It’s about time he matched someone else, rather than George. You’re going to look so cute together in those! I think I’m going to owl Lauren and see if she wouldn’t mind buying the wool for me and bringing it with her on Friday.” Hermione smiled and nodded. Molly had been delighted when Charlie had fallen in love with a muggle woman who loved to knit. Almost as delighted as Arthur had been when he had learned that there was the chance of having a muggle daughter-in-law. He did everything he could to support their long-distance relationship and to encourage Charlie to move to the Welsh reserve so the two would be closer and could see each other more.

“I think your mum might make us matching sweaters for Christmas,” Hermione said to Fred, later that evening, as they gently swayed in the air over the sea. He had announced after dinner that he was taking Hermione on a broomstick ride that night. Hermione had been a little surprised, until Fred explained that Larry had pointed out that the moon was full. It was the perfect night, and the most romantic date, especially when Fred pulled Hermione onto the broom in front of him, wrapping his arms around her and reassuring her that she was safe with him. She nodded, leaned back and enjoyed the feeling of relinquishing control and enjoying the experience.

That feeling stayed with her throughout the next day and evening, when she let Fred fulfil another of the tasks on their list. Talking softly to her all the time, he moved down her naked body and gently kissed and licked her until she came in his mouth, calling his name even more loudly than when he made her come with his fingers.

“That was amazing,” she told him, when he moved himself back up the bed so his head was on the pillow next to hers. She reached for his waist and then slowly trailed her hand down to his cock. “I should return the favour…”

“Not tonight,” he said. “You lay back and enjoy the afterglow, love.” Fred took his cock into his own hand and began to rub it while she watched. “I just like watching you,” he said, his hand moving faster and his eyes growing darker as the minutes passed.

“I love watching you do that,” Hermione said. “It’s so sexy.” And then, when she saw the effect her words had on him, she tried more. “I love your cock. One day, when you put it inside me, it’s going to feel so good, I know. I love watching you play with your cock, Fred. Are you thinking about fucking me with it?”

“Oh, Gods … unghhhh…” 

The sense of confidence that Hermione felt when she saw the effect of her words on Fred’s face inspired her to determine to excel at talking dirty, in the same way that she had excelled at many of her school subjects. It would be years before she would tell Fred that she made careful study of what turned him on the most and, when she did, he wouldn’t laugh – as she suspected he would – but instead fell in love with her even more.

The next evening, though, she insisted on returning the favour. They were taking a long, sexy shower together, having decided they were too hot and wanted to feel refreshed before going to sleep. Hermione took a bar of soap and carefully used it to wash Fred’s body from top to toe, massaging it into his skin, stroking his scars and using the activity to thoroughly turn him on. He saw her eyes go to his hard cock on several occasions even after she had tended to it with the soap and her clever fingers, but he was still surprised when, after taking the shower head in her hand and rinsing him completely clean, she replaced the hose on its hook and then dropped to her knees in front of him.

“Oh fuck…”

Hermione would never tell Fred that she had asked Angelina for oral sex advice a day or two before and, as Angelina would never tell George, it remained a secret that bonded the two witches forever. Angelina had been immensely touched when Hermione had asked for her help, and had sneaked two bananas and a bottle of rum out of the kitchen before leading Hermione to a secluded bit of the beach and casting wards. There, they had swigged the rum as an icebreaker – or as Angie had jokingly described it, lubrication – and then she had given Hermione several bits of excellent advice and a practical demonstration which had ended with the two witches in hysterics and firmly bonded as friends. Which, Angelina pointed out as they walked back to the terrace, was a good thing, as they would likely be spending a lot of time together in the future.

Fred leaned his back, head and shoulders against the shower wall, unable to do anything except stand there and enjoy the delicious sensations of having his cock inside Hermione’s soft, wet, warm mouth. He wondered how she had learned to do this so well, and so quickly and then, when he realised that two thirds of the witches who might have helped her were related to him, he quickly cleared his mind and focused on his feelings instead.

“Gods, I love you,” he said, unable to hold back any longer as she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock and then teased his frenulum before sucking him, quite hard, and making him squeal. And he really did, he realised, surprising himself with his own feelings and words.

“Did you mean that … what you said in there?” Hermione asked, when they were dried and back in bed afterwards. “Or was it the blow job talking?”

Fred huffed out a laugh, holding her more closely to his chest and feeling grateful for the existence of cooling charms, which allowed them to cuddle despite it being a hot night. He loved how straightforward and to the point Hermione was.

“I meant it,” he said. “Really. You have bookwormed your way to my heart already, and I want to keep you forever. If you’d like that.”

He felt Hermione’s nod against his chest. “I want to keep you too. I love you back,” she said, and then they simply held each other until they fell asleep. She murmured one more thing before she drifted off. “You’ve nearly completed your list, by the way…”

“Just one more full day of peace before the troops descend,” he reminded her the next morning, as they lay together watching the soft, flimsy drapes move slightly in the breeze. 

His words took her back to the previous day, when the entire group had gathered on the terrace for pre-dinner drinks, in what had quickly become a ritual. The main topic of discussion on this occasion was the fact that, on Friday afternoon, three separate portkeys would bring several other family members in. Some just for the weekend, some for longer. Charlie would portkey directly from Romania. Bill and Fleur were going to apparate to the Ministry, where they would meet up and travel with Percy and Lavender. And Percy’s boyfriend Oliver was going to apparate to a small village outside Bristol, where Charlie’s girlfriend Lauren lived. Oliver and Lauren were complete opposites in so many ways, but they shared a similar sense of dry, witty humour and thus got on like a house on fire. Oliver had offered to bring Lauren, to save Charlie from needing to get consecutive portkeys, which meant that the whole family would be assembled in time for pre-dinner drinks. Molly was delighted. The fact that the first batch of her Christmas knitting wool was also arriving with Lauren and Oliver was only slightly less exciting than the fact that her entire family would be together for three full days and nights before a few of them needed to go back for work.

Hermione turned to him, smiling. “Tonight,” she said.

Fred frowned. “I thought it was Friday they were coming?” he asked. “Today’s only Thursday, right?”

“Yes, it is,” she stroked his chest. “I didn’t mean that. It’ll be crazy when they all get here. And with some of them staying for the rest of the month, it won’t be this quiet again. I meant that tonight, I want to finish our list.”

Fred’s eyes widened. “Really?” He tried to remember the list he had made that first day on the beach, but he knew of at least one thing on it that they hadn’t yet done. He thought back. Certainly they had achieved most of it; the beach cuddling and snogging, the broom ride. He smirked when he remembered his own words about them coming in each other’s mouths, and felt turned on.

“Well, can we agree that last night’s declarations of love and togetherness constitute some level of falling in love?” Hermione asked.

“Absolutely.” Fred’s reply was fast, clear and accompanied by a look which left no doubt. And he had made no bones telling Hermione how much he cared for her over the last few days. He was certain that this was it for him.

“Well then,” Hermione said, her tender strokes and kisses to Fred’s body offsetting the matter of fact tone in which she spoke. “Then we just have one thing left to tick off. And I’d like to do that tonight … it feels right.”

“Right...” said Fred, for once lost for words.

“Mmmmm hmmmm.” Hermione pressed herself to him. “You’d better not use up all your energy playing with beach balls today, because tonight I want us to fuck until we fall asleep,” she said.

Fred didn’t know how he got through the day. The anticipation – and his almost-constant state of arousal – drove him crazy, and it would almost have been better, he thought, if he hadn’t known. But then he would look across at Hermione on her day bed, her mind still in Scotland, where she would evidently be for most of the month, as the first book had been replaced by another one which looked identical but for being a different colour. It turned out that she had brought the entire set, thanks to her penchant for combining tiny pieces of luggage and undetectable extension charms. She would look up from her book at Fred, and give a small smile or a wink, and he would wonder at how in just days he could have fallen in love and be ready to devote his life to this small, feisty witch who had walked in on him just a week before and stripped off her own clothes to prove to him that he was beautiful. Fred sighed, pulled himself together and cast his fourteenth tempus spell of the day. It was barely lunchtime.

By mid-afternoon, he couldn’t cope with his own sexual tension anymore. “I’m going for a nap,” he announced, before heading towards the room that everyone now referred to as his and Hermione’s. Ginny’s stuff was long gone, and Ron had claimed a room that he would share with Lavender. It seemed almost inevitable that Hermione would move in with Fred when they returned, and the entire family could see that this relationship was going to last. The pair were devoted to each other, and Arthur felt slightly guilty that he had doubted Fred’s motives enough to issue a harsher talk that first afternoon than had been warranted. It was clear that his middle son was crazy about his youngest son’s best friend. And Ron seemed to be okay with it too, which was a relief to everyone.

“I think I’ll have a nap too,” Hermione said, once Fred was out of earshot. “Can’t believe how tiring it is to lay in the sun and read novels all day!”

She crept into their room, ensuring that all the right charms were cast to protect them, adding the contraceptive and protective charm that Molly had taught her. Fred was in the bed, naked, with just a sheet covering him. He looked up at Hermione as she neared, not bothering to hide the fact that he had his hard cock in his hand.

“It’s driving me nuts, love,” he said, by means of explanation as he looked at his hand, which was slowly and firmly rubbing his cock. “I promise I’ll be good to go again later…”

“Why wait? It’s what we both want … so badly.”

Fred’s hand stopped moving as he watched Hermione repeat almost the exact same actions that he remembered from their meeting in the beach hut. She slipped out of her sundress and then removed the bikini which she was wearing in lieu of underwear, so that she could dip in and out of the sea several times a day.

“You’d better be naked under there,” she said, moving the sheet down a bit and pressing her lips to Fred’s scar, which had become her standard greeting when they were alone and half-naked.

“Oh, don’t worry, love, I am very naked. Very hard, too. Because of you…”

“So you are…” Hermione lifted the sheet back, revealing his long, toned body, and she took her time admiring it before kneeling on the edge of the bed and then lowering her body on top of Fred’s. “I want you to fuck me,” she told him, and then she kissed his mouth, gently moving her tongue against his.

Fred groaned, and kissed her back. He would love to line himself up and thrust straight into her, but he knew from their late-night chats that this would be her first time. He had spent hours with his fingers inside her over the past few days and nights, though; teasing and stroking her; helping her learn the myriad sources of her own pleasure. Slipping a hand down her body as they kissed, Fred stroked her tummy and gently tangled his fingers through her curls, giving Hermione a wink before edging one long digit down through the valley. He smiled when he felt moisture, and he gently wriggled his finger deeper into her core, searching for the nub of her clit and then spreading two fingers apart so he could trace and rub up and down the length of where it divided into two arms, underneath her skin. Hermione moaned, softly.

“You like that?” he asked, receiving another small moaning noise as reward for his efforts. Apparently, Hermione’s mother had once owled her a book, from which Hermione had long ago learned that the visible nub of the clitoris was only one tiny part of the structure. She had shared her knowledge with Fred, who would be eternally (though secretly) grateful in equal measure to Hermione’s mother and to the author of the book, for it had enabled him to explore his witch’s body in a way that he hadn’t understood women’s bodies before.

“I do.” 

Fred loved it when Hermione used short words. It meant the bit of her brain that knew words like ‘plasticity’ and ‘bailiwick’ was resting; allowing her to be flooded with a more physical kind of pleasure. Fred loved to pleasure her, and he moved down her body, using his fingers to gently part her thighs and then her curls so that he could use his tongue and mouth on her.

For a few moments, Hermione lost all her words, and she simply sighed and groaned. Then, she regained the use of her lover’s name, and the words, ‘yes’, and ‘please’, and she repeated the three words on a loop as Fred brought her to a climax, slid up her body, asked if she was sure and then finally, achingly slowly, slid his cock inside her, causing them both to shed happy tears at the sensation of finally being joined.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

He began to rock into her, slowly, and they both gasped at the magic that flowed between them; at the sensations. It seemed to last for hours but be over in seconds; Hermione’s second orgasm aided by Fred’s thumb just a minute before he lost control and spilled inside her, swearing and calling her name.

They lay in the afterglow, too spent at first to recast a cooling charm. But soon, they smiled at each other and moved apart. Too hot to keep the length of their bodies pressed against each other, they held hands instead, and fell asleep; dreaming of long days and nights together, long, lovely family times, and then a life together. A life free from fear; a life where their scars would become happy reminders of their bravery, of the way they had fought, for each other and for their family and friends. A life of matching jumpers and family holidays, punctuated by family squabbles and pranks.

A life in which the first thing they did every morning for the rest of their lives was to smile at each other before Hermione would lean over, bare Fred’s naked chest, and press a kiss to the cross over his heart.


End file.
